Exchange Rate
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Swap Meat missing scene and tag: So, how DID Dean miss that Sam wasn't himself?


**Exchange Rate**  
K Hanna Korossy

Maybe Gary the Dweeb Wonder had zero upper-body strength, but Sam still had something the kid didn't: experience at getting out of ropes.

He'd been unconscious when the teens had tied him up, so he hadn't been able to inflate his lungs to make the ropes looser. But that still left a lot of tricks in his bag, especially now that he was alone. Because the demon-possessed girl was going after Dean, who had a counterfeit Sam at his side, who was trying to kill him for some demonic bounty on— Okay, not thinking about that. Thinking about ropes. Like if he twisted his body down while wriggling his hands up…

A minute and two rope burns later, Sam shot to his feet. Or Gary's feet. Whatever.

He had to go find Dean.

Sam sat up as tall as he could in the car he'd hotwired and went just above the speed limit, trying not to look like a kid driving a stolen car. The motel was located just where the motels they usually stayed in were: at the edge of town, off the highway, in the more rundown section of town. The sight of the Impala parked in front brought such a wave of homesick relief, it surprised even Sam. He screeched the car into the neighboring space, jumped out, and ran around to the back of the 'pala. Dean would forgive Sam for picking the lock in the rush to save his life. No telling what was going on inside the room, and without even size on his side now, Sam needed some big friggin' guns to compensate.

Armed with a salt-loaded shotgun and the Colt, he rushed up to the room door and slammed his…worn tennis shoe against the solid wood.

Oh, right.

Chagrined, Sam tried the doorknob, and winced when he found it unlocked. He banged the door open, and found…

Huh.

Dean was bloodied but standing, not looking particularly alarmed. That was despite the fact that a Sam-shaped Gary was standing only a few feet away, breathing hard. And sprawled in between them was Nora, unconscious and apparently exorcised.

"Uh." Belatedly, Sam thought to raise the shotgun and point it at Gary, fully aware he was threatening his own body. Gary looked almost amused at the gesture, however, which only further confused Sam.

"Stand down, Sam." Dean's voice was gruff with pain.

Sam's eyes flicked that way, and saw his brother now had an arm wrapped around his ribs. Eyes narrowed, Sam looked back at Gary.

"He's… Okay, he's not cool," Dean continued, "but he's not gonna do anything now. Put it down, Sam."

Sam's mouth tightened but he lowered the gun. Dean clearly knew Gary was an imposter, the demon was neutralized, and Gary was unarmed. He was still a big guy—and Sam was just starting to realize how imposing he looked to others, especially much shorter and smaller others—and a kindergartner could probably take Dean down just then, but Gary wasn't looking too threatening. In fact, he looked kind of embarrassed.

Sam scowled, knowing the expression didn't look too imposing on an acne-pocked face but not caring. "Okay, someone want to tell me what's going on here?"

That was when Dean bent over with a groan and threw up all over the floor.

00000

"Asthma, Dean. He has asthma. And gluten-intolerance, which I'm telling you, sucks. And his parents have his whole _life _planned out, like, up to retirement. And he's _short._"

Dean sucked in a breath, groping an arm up to press his palm against the bathroom wall.

Sam paused to lay a hand on his back, gauging the way Dean was breathing. "Y'all right? You want me to loosen it?" He slid his fingers down to the layers of gauze he'd been wrapping around the three cracked ribs in Dean's chest. You couldn't wrap ribs long-term without risking pneumonia, but until they got Gary and his friends squared away and left the town in their rearview, they both needed to be at their best. Which in Dean's case included being beaten all to crap by a demon, and in Sam's meant hands that were half the size he was used to.

"'M good." Dean wobbled on the toilet seat, caught himself, then patted Sam's chest. "We should get back out there, get the two of you switched back."

"Gary can wait," Sam said tersely, prodding at Dean's hairline to see where the blood drying along the side of his face had come from. "Trust me, he's not getting out of those ropes." He grabbed an alcohol wipe and tore it open. "Speaking of which, you wanna tell me how you didn't notice Ferris Bueller was suddenly wearing my body? I left you, like, thirty messages." Dean had filled him in on the demon's attack and Gary's change of heart, but had left out some pretty big details from beforehand. Like how he'd spent the last two days with an imposter for a brother.

Dean's face sagged. Pale and bruised and haggard, he looked now like a man who'd recently been in an insane asylum, been attacked by a demon, and had a bounty from Hell on his head. "Later, Sam."

Sam threw the bloody wipe away and fished out the butterfly bandages, pausing to throw Dean a skeptical look.

"Look, I get it," Dean said wearily, "I screwed up. You can tear me a new one later, okay? Let's worry about it when you're a sasquatch again—this is weirding me out." A vague wave at Sam's new body. "Homicidal nerd is not a good look on you, dude."

Sam sighed, standing and closing the first aid kit that was perched on the edge of the sink. He avoided his reflection in the mirror above it. "Yeah, all right. Can you walk?"

Dean's mouth curled up. "You _are_ about the same size as a crutch."

Sam glared at him.

Dean snorted. "I'd recognize that look on any face. Okay, let's do this."

He was right, though: for the first time in years, Sam fit perfectly under his arm.

00000

They'd argued some about just letting go a kid who'd been ready to murder another human being. In the end, though, Sam had to concede that Gary had learned his lesson the hard way. Between Dean's threats of bodily harm and the confiscation of every single bit of black magic paraphernalia the teens had—not to mention the fact that neither Sam nor Dean wanted to kill or jail a teenage idiot—they finally decided to let this one go. The kids would still have to deal with the gutted body of their friend and the aftereffects of Nora's possession, responsibilities Sam didn't envy them. Not to mention navigating the choppy waters of teen romance and overachieving parents. That was probably punishment enough.

Leaving Nora and Gary behind, they returned next to the motel they'd first set up camp in, where Dean went dumpster diving and sheepishly pulled out a handful of phones. Sam rolled his eyes and stuffed them back into the glove compartment.

They were almost to Stockbridge when Sam finally rubbed his jaw and demanded, "So?"

Dean's brows came down but he didn't turn from the road. "So?"

"Gary? In my body? For almost two _days _before you realized? You wanna explain how that's possible?" He was trying to keep his voice level, seriously, but Dean's obliviousness had been eating at him since he'd first realized his brother hadn't immediately detected the lie.

Deep crow's feet gathered around Dean's eyes as he grimaced at the windshield. "Not now, Sam, okay? My head's killing me."

"Right. And tomorrow you'll be busy looking for another case, and then you'll be listening to music, and then—"

The car started to gently veer into the opposite lane, just as headlights came over the hill in front of them.

Sam cursed and grabbed for the wheel.

Dean jolted up, eyes wide again but confused and a little glassy.

Their stop on the gravel shoulder was graceless and abrupt. It sent Dean toppling over against Sam's shoulder, but he didn't seem in a hurry to sit up even once the car stopped moving.

Sam tried to slow his pounding heart even as he automatically braced Dean against him.

"Think you should drive now," Dean slurred into his collar.

"Yeah," Sam said shakily. He curled a hand that was finally the right size around the back of his brother's scrambled head. So much for Dean making excuses. "I think you're right."

00000

Dean had taken the news the day before of a demonic bounty on his head with surprising equanimity. It wasn't like Hell hadn't already been gunning for him. Besides, he'd argued, for all they knew, he had a Get Out of Death card from Michael just like Sam supposedly did from Lucifer.

Sam wasn't finding it as easy to brush off. He tended to worry about threats to his brother far more than his brother did to himself—a trait they grudgingly shared—and the fact that he'd come close to losing Dean the day before, that his brother was lying in bed that very moment with a concussion and busted ribs, gave additional weight to his concerns. If they had not only the whole demonic world, but also every wannabe Satan-worshiper with an Ouija board and black candles gunning for Dean, they'd have to be even more alert than usual.

As for the Michael card, Sam was trying not to think about that one. Just as he didn't let himself dwell on Lucifer's twisted promises.

Dean grunted under his breath as he shifted in sleep, and Sam's head bobbed up for a moment to make sure he was okay before returning to the laptop.

Bobby had never heard of demonic bounties. Castiel, as usual, agreed with Dean when Sam called him. It wasn't like Sam could do much about it either way, he'd pointed out, and Sam was reluctantly starting to agree. But he still intended to keep researching until he'd exhausted every possibility.

It also kept him from thinking too much about…other things.

Like how he was still a little uncomfortable back in his own skin. How he felt violated and angry that a moronic trio of teenagers could have stolen his very body from him. About the marks on his skin he didn't know the origin of, and hint of perfume he'd smelled on his jacket. And how his own brother, the person who knew him best in the world, hadn't been able to tell for almost two days that Sam was a completely different person.

Sam chewed his lip as he jabbed at the mouse perhaps harder than he needed to. Yeah, that didn't bother him at_ all. _Just one more thing he was carefully not thinking about. Still, it was always good to know you were so replaceable…

"I knew something was wrong."

Sam straightened in his chair to see Dean was awake and pushing himself up. It was a slow and clearly painful process, but Sam didn't move to help, just watched, waited.

Dean sagged back against the headboard and sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "That's what's eating you, right? I knew, Sam—of course I knew. You suddenly loved my music and the car and greasy food, and thought hunting was '_sweet!'_ I'm not an idiot, dude."

Sam snorted.

"Shut up," Dean said heatlessly. His eyes roamed the room; he hadn't been very aware when they'd arrived and he was assessing now where they were: exits, windows, protections. "I ran all the usual tests without you—Gary—knowing—and he wasn't a shapeshifter, possessed, a ghoul, or concussed. The car's warded so I figured it wasn't an influence. So I finally figured you were still just tripping."

Sam shoved to his feet and stalked over to stand by the beds. "You thought I was _high?"_

"No," Dean said patiently, eyes on him now. "I thought the wraith venom was still messing with your head, like…" His gaze flickered. "Like it was with me."

Sam deflated onto the edge of his bed. "You didn't tell me."

Dean's mouth twisted. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly want you to know I was still seeing people who weren't there and monsters in mirrors. Besides, it was getting better. Haven't had a hallucination in two days now."

Sam processed that. "Okay, yeah, I was seeing a few things I knew weren't there, too. I was about to tell you, when Donna called."

"Right. So, it all kinda made sense. I mean, when you ran my car into the dumpster, I had some second thoughts, but—"

Sam blinked. "Wait, what? He dented your _car?_ And you _still_ let it ride?"

Dean squirmed, hand pressing against his ribs. "You got the Advil handy?"

Sam knew it was a stall, but considering the last time he'd brushed past Dean's excuse, they'd almost run off the road, he let it pass. He snagged the bottle off the table on his way to the mini fridge and returned with water and a pair of pills. Dean took them with hands that were a little unsteady, and Sam returned to his seat on the bed feeling chastened.

Dean took a breath and raised his chin. "Look. I know I should've known it wasn't you, and maybe somewhere inside I knew it all along. But…Sam, you were losing it after the asylum, and I told you to bury it deep and lighten up…and you did. You—well, Gary—said 'It's a new me,' and I guess I just really wanted to believe him, you know? Figured you were finally listening to me." Sam couldn't help the small scoff, and Dean gave him a look that fully acknowledged the irony. "Hey, I told you I was still a little loopy from the wraith."

Sam's mouth twitched into an almost-smile and he nodded. It made sense. Too much sense, unfortunately. There'd been a time when he could've predicted Dean's reactions to the split-second, but all the water under the bridge had washed away a lot of givens in their life. Now Dean had been to Hell, Sam had unleashed Hell, they'd worked with demons and defied angels. Who was to say what normal was anymore? Besides, the thought of Dean longing for a more lighthearted brother was just…sad.

"It was just, uh, when Gary left with that woman that it finally clicked it wasn't you. I mean, the day you pick up a chick at a bar…" Dean's grin faded as he looked at Sam.

Who probably appeared as horrified as he felt. "You mean…is that why…?" He shifted on the bed, feeling welts and scratches pull. As Dean's eyebrows climbed, Sam shook his head. "Never mind." He wasn't thinking about it. Uh-uh.

"I guess I just…you know. I'm sorry." Dean's hands spread, conciliatory. "I wouldn't have left you behind if I'd known, even if you don't appreciate my good taste as much as Freaky Friday did. Things have just been so screwed up lately, it was hard to tell when…"

He wasn't surprised to hear Dean echo his thoughts. One thing that hadn't changed was how much they both wished things hadn't changed and missed the old ease between them. Sam gave Dean a wry look. "Guess I'll try to be a little more predictable in the future, huh?" His own attempt at lightheartedness faded. "I know I'm not…Sammy anymore," he said carefully. "I don't want the wife and kids and picket-fence life, and I don't want to just follow your lead now. But…I'm still your brother. That's not gonna change."

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the headboard. "See, now I know you're you. Not even an emo teenager would give that speech."

"Whatever," Sam said, smiling, and stood. "You want emotional? It just came up on yahoo—AC/DC and Judas Priest both won Grammys last night."

Dean's mouth fell open. "You're kidding." He whooped a "Yes!", flinching and grabbing at his ribs when they clearly complained. "That's awesome. See? Now the world's worth saving."

"I'm glad you've found a reason to keep going," Sam said dryly, getting up and returning to his laptop. Maybe he didn't love everything his brother did, but he knew and loved his brother. "Sentimental jerk," he muttered.

"I heard that, bitch."

He'd known as much.

**The End**


End file.
